Taking it off the streets

What those guys are pulling off on Route 130 in Willingboro is “illegal street racing.”

Whole different thing. And it’s not just dangerous, it’s lame.

Men too smart for illegal street racing take it to raceways like this one.

Atco Raceway.

Andy’s showing me around the park on Jackson Road in Camden County.

The roar of engines is deafening.

At a raceway like this, you can test your car, your wits, your driving prowess.

In Willingboro, mostly you get known for your willingness to risk your license and other people’s safety. Where are the bragging rights in that?

No reason for it, Andy insists.

He’s not a patient man, explains his wife, Rose. That is, until Andy gets into the pit with one of his three grown sons from a previous marriage, or with Katie, 12, their daughter together.

Katie? In the pit?

All the time. Andy learned to race cars as a teen. His sons followed suit. Now, too, this angelic-faced child with the waist-length, strawberry-blond hair and a smile that goes all the way to her eyes.

Her name is tattooed on Andy’s arm.

She’s a shy A and B student who also sings in the choir, performs in the school play, takes hip-hop dance. And now races cars.

“Brought her out of her shell,” says Rose. And yes, she sees the irony of that, since the kid is wrapped in a fireproof suit and gloves, a helmet and five-point harness, and sitting under a roll bar over the shell of a car.

“It’s when she steps out. She’s more confident,” Rose says. Win or lose, Mom says, Katie feels better about who she is and of what she’s capable.

Shelby DiIorio, a recent graduate of Northern Burlington Regional High School, was a top performer at the raceway this season. So, too, Shane Brooks of Lumberton.

Lots of the men take to the raceway to push their own limits, spend mornings teaching kids like Katie to push theirs. Sons and daughters, siblings, nephews and nieces. All itching for top speeds and bragging rights, like the adults.

Junior dragsters. Ages 8 to 18. They run an eighth of a mile at speeds approaching 100 mph, where older racers and pros run a quarter-mile at speeds approaching lunacy.

That’s what Andy, of Florence, wanted me to see when he met me at the track last weekend. This is a legitimate sport. A family tradition for a lot of guys. Illegal racers in Willingboro give it a bad name.

Those guys can bring their street cars to race here for $15.

Why wouldn’t you choose professional starting lights (instead of some knucklehead with a death wish signaling from the middle of Route 130), announcers, a manicured raceway, and fans in the stands or in the pit? An ambulance at the ready.

“Anything runs,” Andy says. ANYTHING. If it’s roadworthy, with seat belts, a guy is good to go.

Inspected? Roadworthy, says owner Len Capone, 47, of Berlin, who bought the park — the raceway, a full-service bar and the concession stands — in December. His wife, his daughter, his nieces work here.

Family.

Capone’s dad, Len Sr., worked at the raceway on the first day it opened in 1960. His mom won the first powder-puff race.

Today, Len Sr. helps oversee the place with his son, who brags, grinning, about racing alcohol funny cars at speeds that neared 250 mph. His favorite cars, he says. “Couldn’t beat my time.”

Yes, he’s seen big money wagered on races. The park can’t have anything to do with it, but it happens.

On this particular afternoon, when the kids are finished competing on this last day of their season, adult racers will run Mustangs and Camaros. The lot is filled with men and women tinkering with and talking muscle cars. A motor head’s paradise.

“Hey, like this other guy says, it’s like an amusement park but you bring your own ride,” Andy explains on a walk back from Katie’s time trial with his youngest son, Darrell, 27.

Andy raced until very recently, when he handed over his Chevy S10 to his eldest son, 33. Kid wanted to move up in the rankings. Andy stepped aside and let him have the vehicle. “I don’t think I’m getting it back,” he says.

Almost as much fun to watch the kid race then to race himself. Almost.

It’s not a cheap sport. The price of a junior dragster can reach $7,000. Andy and his sons are building a new one for Katie. Her current ride would sell for about $2,000 if Andy were to sell it now. She’s insisting the new one be painted purple. “She’s screwing up my whole red color scheme,” Andy says and smiles broadly.

To pay for it all, Andy, a maintenance electrician, and Rose, who works for the motor vehicle department, make holiday wooden lawn ornaments and sell them in front of their house in Florence. Katie helps Andy mow lawns. Racing is important to them.

Too important to stand by without calling out illegal street racers.

Get into the park and do it right, Andy says.

Len recalls when Atco was packed on Friday and Saturday nights. Date night. A place to see and be seen. To show off in front of your girl. He’s working to make it happen again.

Sure as heck beats hanging out in front of a Route 130 fast-food joint, where you scatter like rodents every time someone sees a squad car. More dignified, anyway.

And speaking of dignity, Katie’s goal this year was to beat herself by a few points. She’d earned 95 last season in bracket races. This season, 200. Nowhere near track champion, but impressive.